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Page 70 - Slippers, lined choicely for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold. A belt of straw, and ivy buds, With coral clasps, and amber studs; And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me, and be my love.
Page ii - TRAVEL ? SCIENCE * FICTION THEOLOGY & PHILOSOPHY HISTORY * CLASSICAL FOR YOUNG PEOPLE ESSAYS * ORATORY POETRY & DRAMA BIOGRAPHY REFERENCE ROMANCE IN FOUR STYLES OF BINDING! CLOTH, FLAT BACK, COLOURED TOP; LEATHER, ROUND CORNERS, GILT TOP; LIBRARY BINDING IN CLOTH, & QUARTER PIGSKIN LONDON: JM DENT & SONS, LTD.
Page 68 - I left this place, and entered into the next field, a second pleasure entertained me ; 'twas a handsome Milkmaid that had not yet attained so much age and wisdom as to load her mind with any fears of many things that will never be, as too many men too often do; but she cast away all care, and sung like a nightingale. Her voice was good, and the ditty fitted for it; 'twas that smooth song, which was made by Kit Marlowe, now at least fifty years ago : and the Milkmaid's mother sung an answer to it,...
Page 70 - The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields: A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.
Page 100 - Indeed, my good scholar, we may say of angling as Dr. Boteler said of strawberries, " Doubtless God could have made a better berry, but doubtless God never did ; " and so, if I might be judge, " God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation than angling.
Page 154 - Come live with me, and be my love, And we will some new pleasures prove, Of golden sands and crystal brooks, With silken lines and silver hooks. There will the river whisp'ring run, Warm'd by thy eyes more than the sun ; And there th" enamell'd fish will stay, Begging themselves they may betray.
Page 16 - But the Nightingale, another of my airy creatures, breathes such sweet loud music out of her little instrumental throat, that it might make mankind to think miracles are not ceased.
Page 71 - A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring but sorrow's fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten ; In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw, and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps, and amber studs, All these in me no means can move To come to thee, and be thy love.
Page 71 - Well sung, good Woman ; I thank you ; I'll give you another dish of fish one of these days ; and then beg another song of you. Come, Scholar, let Maudlin alone ; do not you offer to spoil her voice.
Page xvi - they don't know when to abuse him, and when to praise him; I will allow no man to speak ill of David that he does not deserve; and as to Sir John, why really I believe him to be an honest man at the bottom: but to be sure he is penurious, and he is mean, and it must be owned he has a degree of brutality, and a tendency to savageness, that cannot easily be defended.